


grounded

by miraphora



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Drabble, M/M, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Post-Battle of Scarif, Tumblr Prompt, cuddle prompt, i can't wait for literally no one to read this, i can't wait for the tag wranglers to be annoyed that i'm out here inventing new relationship tags, i'm so stoked, just guys being chums, rarepair
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-19
Updated: 2017-06-19
Packaged: 2018-11-15 20:45:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11238867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miraphora/pseuds/miraphora
Summary: After the Battle of Scarif, General Antoc Merrick convalesces with a friend.(the prompt was "on the floor" which explains everything and nothing)





	grounded

**Author's Note:**

> There's a teasing twitter exchange between Alistair Petrie and Ben Daniels from awhile ago that was sort of jokingly in-character for Draven and Merrick, and Daniels threatens divorce, and I was immediately stricken with heart-eyes and a new, truly incomprehensible ship. So now my version of "Everyone Lives" includes Antoc Merrick. Anyway, that's a lot of explanation for like 400 words, but I'm actually working on more of this pairing, which is how the idea got into someone's head on tumblr to prompt this. So. Enjoy. Join me in the rarest of pair hell.

“Sithspit!” The swear tore from a throat not long recovered from heat and fire and exposure, as their tangled bodies went down hard to the floor of the cramped quarters.

Draven clenched his jaw, staving off a spike of panic as his hands pressed hard and flat to the middle of Merrick’s back, keeping the lean man from moving any farther or tumbling sidelong into the legs of the narrow bunk. His skin was still fragile, fresh, pink with healing layers of dermis, and the last thing he needed was rough treatment. Especially from a clumsy sod like Draven, who should have insisted he finish out his convalescence in the medbay instead of falling prey to a pair of blue eyes that should have only had such a startling affect on a man half--a THIRD--of his age.

He couldn’t very well fault Andor for his deplorable weakness in falling for Erso when he himself was such a damned sot. He exhaled sharply, nostrils flaring, and tilted his head back, trying to regain some sense of dignity or control.

“Are you alright?” he asked, voice terse and accent clipped.

Merrick barely shifted, weight solidly planted atop him. “Just,” he wheezed a little breathlessly. “Just don’t move. For a moment.” He dragged in a slow breath. “If you please,” he added, as an obvious afterthought.

Draven wanted very badly to pinch the bridge of his nose and force back the headache forming in his sinuses, but his hands seemed riveted to Merrick’s back and refused to oblige him by moving.

A slight movement, as Merrick turned his head, cheek resting against Draven’s chest. “Just…as soon as every nerve ending stops firing at once. I’ll move. Promise, Dav.”

Draven exhaled again, and had to bite the inside of his cheek against the words crowding up his throat and against the back of his teeth. His traitorous hands parted, one holding position on the middle of Merrick’s back, where he was bowed a bit with pain, the other making a determined advance upward, between the other man’s tensed shoulder blades. Merrick’s breathing eased a bit in response. There didn’t seem to be any point in fighting it, or trying to rush things. Draven closed his eyes and focused on breathing and on not imagining the pain of a thousand seared nerves firing at once, and a body consumed in fire.

“Take as long as you need.”


End file.
